


Stay

by temporalgambit



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gender-Neutral Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Literal Sleeping Together, Other, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temporalgambit/pseuds/temporalgambit
Summary: Even in the Devildom, there's no cure for the common cold, but that doesn't mean you can't try to help Belphie feel a little better in the meantime.
Relationships: Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Belphegor/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 133





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

> long time no fanfic? 
> 
> i’ve been obsessed with obey me! recently, so i thought i’d contribute a bit to the fandom :’) 
> 
> also my first time writing reader-insert, but it was fun and not as difficult as i thought it would be! the magic of the otome game…
> 
> anyway, please enjoy! ( ´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

Although your initial time in the Devildom hadn’t exactly been _planned_ (at least, not on _your_ end), you like to think that you’ve done pretty well for yourself. You’d somehow managed to defy all expectations, not get eaten, and ultimately settle in so easily it may as well have been the will of fate.

If you’re inclined to believe in such things.

You’ve played many different roles since your arrival—student, friend, confidant, mediator, _family counselor_ —so all in all, you feel well within your right to be proud of the impact you’ve made.

So, when ‘sick demon babysitter’ just kind of falls into your lap, you’re not particularly phased. Some kind of nasty cold has been going around school, and apparently Belphie had chosen the wrong time and place to nap with his face smushed against the unforgiving germ-ridden surface of a shared desk.

Live and learn.

Still, you never really thought you’d see the day when Belphie has a hard time _sleeping_. If anything, you’d figured it would be the opposite. You know _you_ always want to crawl under the covers and sleep for a week whenever _you’re_ sick. But Beel said he sometimes gets like this when he isn’t feeling well—utterly exhausted, but somehow unable to convince his body to get the rest he needs to feel better.

The first order of business, you’d decided, would be keeping him away from the rest of his brothers. You could probably deal with _one_ patient, _maybe_ two, but three, four, or anything even remotely approaching _seven_ is more than you care to think about.

You’d steeled yourself for a tough couple of days since the moment you’d offered to let him recuperate in your room, away from Beel and the others. It would be more work for you, although surprisingly that’s not the part that’s been troublesome. You’d thought he would give you a hard time. Belphie is normally pretty sweet, but he has a petulant side, and you’d pinned him as a cranky patient for sure—especially if he hasn’t been sleeping well. But instead of snippy remarks and bossiness, you’re finding that you have to almost _pry_ answers out of him.

_Do you need anything? Are you comfortable? Are you too hot? Too cold? Does your head hurt? Are you thirsty? What about hungry? Should I turn off the light? Do you want me to leave you alone?_

It would almost be easier if he _was_ making demands.

You’re currently trying to talk him into some cough syrup. According to the packaging, it’s one of those catch-all cough suppressant/fever reducer/decongestant types. You’d asked Satan for help rummaging through the medicine cabinet, and he’d recommended this one for its effectiveness—with an unfortunate warning about its awful taste.

Although considering that half of the foods in the Devildom are intimidating by name alone, it’s somewhat funny to see Belphie staring down into the small plastic cup like it’s about to bite him.

“It’s not going to do you any good like that,” you tease, a smile playing at the corners of your lips.

“I’m working up to it,” he insists. He glances at you once, maybe a plea for help, and then raises the cup. He hesitates, hesitates, and then tosses it back like a shot.

Cough syrup though it may be, it certainly does a good job _inciting_ a coughing fit. You feel slightly bad as you trade the dosing cup for a glass of water, sitting beside Belphie on the bed and rubbing his back until the fit has more or less tapered off.

“I’ve heard that the worse it tastes, the better it is for you,” you offer. He doesn’t seem particularly impressed with that piece of information, but he _does_ drop his head against your shoulder. It’s an action born from exhaustion and—as you’ve recently learned—a wordless request for comfort.

It would be cute if he was just being a baby over a little cold, but you know he really _is_ miserable—tired and achy with a fever that won’t break and a cough and runny nose that won’t let him sleep. You wouldn’t want to be in his position, though you _do_ wish you could make it a bit easier on him.

You pull him closer to you, running your hand soothingly up and down his side now. You feel his breath stutter before evening out again. Hopefully the medicine kicks in soon. One of the side effects is drowsiness, which is probably what he needs right about now.

In the meantime, you decide to go about making him comfortable. It’s kind of a tall order, since every part of his body seems to hurt, but you’ve discovered through trial and error that propping him up on a pile of pillows helps him breathe easier through the congestion, and a cool cloth pressed to his forehead is a welcome relief for his pounding head.

You only get as far as situating him back against the pillows, though, before you suddenly find yourself enveloped in a hug.

“Belphie, what—?” you ask through a laugh. Crouched over as you were, you’d nearly knocked your head into his own, and you’d come dangerously close to kneeing him in the crotch. You can’t say you don’t appreciate the _sentiment_ , but…

“Stay,” he says, arms tightening around you just a bit.

“Okay, but,” you wriggle, “isn’t this uncomfortable?”

“Better than being without you.”

You wonder if he’s being cute to get what he wants, or if that’s genuinely what he’s thinking. Lifting your head to peer into his fever-flushed face, you decide on the latter. “Okay, I’ll stay,” you agree, “but let’s actually get comfy, instead of whatever’s going on here.”

He nods, arms slackening to allow you to shimmy down into a lying position. You’re not surprised when he turns away from you, pressing his back to your chest. On a normal day, he often likes to lie facing you, so you’re the first thing he sees when he wakes up, but for the past few days he’s been trying very hard not to cough or sneeze _directly_ into your face, which you appreciate.

You may be biologically incapable of catching his cold, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Anyway, he’s not above being the little spoon, and this position certainly has its merits. From here, you can curl yourself down the length of his spine, soothing aches and chills with your body heat. He sighs as you pull the blanket over the both of you, but then chokes and breaks off into a dozen or so hacking coughs. You rub his back, and then his chest, until he’s managed to catch his breath.

“This sucks,” he mutters, with only a fragment of the irritability you’re pretty sure he’s entitled to. For some reason, this brings a smile to your lips, which you quickly press in a firm kiss to the back of his neck.

“…Now it sucks a _little_ less,” he concedes, making you laugh outright. You feel his chest jump with what _might_ be an aborted laugh of his own (or maybe just a cough). He snuggles back into you, clearly craving as much contact as possible. “…You’ll stay, though? For a while?”

You’d already said yes, but you can’t blame him for being kind of hazy on the subject. “Of course,” you confirm, “whatever you want.”

‘Whatever you want,’ can be a dangerous phrase in the Devildom—although with Belphie it’s usually just a strong basis for teasing (“ _Whatever_ I want, you said?”). So, when he responds to your promise with a slight nod and a, “Mn…‘kay…thanks…” you have to fight back the urge to squeeze him for being so unspeakably cute.

You don’t, of course, because although he _is_ being unspeakably cute, it’s probably more important that he get some rest. If the cold medicine does its job, he’ll sleep for a while, and wake up feeling…well…you’re not so optimistic as to hope for ‘completely better,’ but you think ‘slightly more alive’ is a pretty reasonable request.

And then, after a couple more naps and bowls of soup and doses of disgusting cough syrup, maybe ‘whatever you want’ might involve more than just cuddling.

…Although, as you finally hear his breathing drop off into soft, congested snores, you figure there’s probably something to be said for this, too.

**Author's Note:**

> crossposted to _fever-ish_ on tumblr, where the party never ends.


End file.
